by Wayne Mee
Lucfelian's black eyes had taken on a reddish glow. From deep within himself he heard the spirit of the High Gnash, Alexis V, screaming to get out, but he shut the Voice off with a muttered incantation. THIS victory he would share with no-one, not even his 'other-self'!
"Go now, quickly!", he said to Skatha. "My flyer awaits, and it grows impatient near feeding time."
As Skatha saluted and made to leave the tent, Lucfelian called him back. His voice was soft, almost fatherly, yet the Nar-Graith was not deceived. "Long we've been together, faithful Skatha. And much you have suffered for my sake. Once Shard is again in my possession, not only will you get your lost hand back, but I shall bring back your brethren --- especially the 'pretty one', Dwill."
Skatha bowed once again, his hooked hand gleaming in the light that streamed in the open flap of the High Gnash's palatial tent.
"Fail me again, however," Lucfelian continued; "and you'll follow your beloved Dwill into oblivion."
Skatha stiffened, then left to find the hated flyer.
***
Chapter 46: 'ERGRAIN'
Through the wee swamp's weed grown fens and watery bog they tramped. The sun, westering behind the distant Tol Eldars, cast slanting rays over the marsh, turning it into a patchwork quilt of molten gold and shadow. From a tall clump of bushes an irate Bluejay cawed loudly, while in the knee-deep water smaller, unseen things slithered.
They had toiled through the swampy underbrush for most the afternoon, seeing nothing more menacing than a startled beaver and a few snakes, when Timin, up to his waist in the muddy water, suddenly pulled up short and pointed. "There! On that rise! Do you see it?!"
Zoean, sloshing along just behind the startled little Kirkwean, scanned the fog-shrouded mound to the left. "I see only mist and trees, Timin."
"There!", he repeated, his voice risen to a croak. "A form all wrapped up in a rotting cloak! See! It beckons!"
The fog swirled round them once again and the entire knoll was blotted from view. Zoean laughed dryly.
"Tis but this accursed fog playing tricks with your eyes. Come, the others are getting too far ahead."
Timin suddenly clutched her arm, his fish-spear pointing into the thick whiteness.
"Look! It's Him, I tell you! Golfinial's ghost! See how he beckons us to him?! Fly, m'lady, fly! I'll hold it back till you reach the others!"
Zoean drew her shortsword. "I shall not! We'll face this watery wraith together!"
Slowly the raggedy form advanced.
Timin, too frightened to call out, and Zoean, too proud, stood side by side as the mist-shrouded apparition came on. Silhouette by the setting sun, it seemed to glide over the swamp, tendrils of fog forming a glowing nimbus around it.
"Come on then you great, ugly wraith!", Timin cried, finding his voice at last. "You've no cause to harm us, but if that's your intention, you'll have to deal with my spear first!"
"Aye!", Zoean added fiercely. "And my good blade as well!"
Suddenly several more forms loomed up out of the mist. From behind root and bush they came, until the two were nearly surrounded. Hunched over in the fog, they seemed small, yet each brandished a weapon of some sort, and as they came silently on, Timin thought what a great pity it was to have traveled so far and survived so much, only to find his end in a swampy corner of his own homeland.
Then Kel was there, crouched before them in his fighters stance, his two a~sa swirling in deadly arcs through the shafts of the westering sun. Nobert's gruff voice called out as several pairs of feet could be heard sloshing towards them through the swamp.
Timin, his heart pumping wildly, suddenly filled his lungs and bellowed: "Erg shatter you all! For The Wold!" Charging madly past the Chin, Timin thrust his spear at the nearest apparition. The three tines ripped though a muddy cloak and sank into a rotting stump. Releasing his hold, Timin flung himself at the form and the two of them began thrashing about in the mire.
Kel, moving swiftly forward, pulled Timin clear and was just about to thrust a gleaming blade into the creature's throat when Mithdar's powerful voice filled the air.
"Hold!", cried the mage, his gnarled staff held high. "Would you, like Golfinial long ago, have brother slay brother?!"
Both the Companions and their attackers seemed suddenly to have turned to stone, only their eyes able to follow the approach of the wizard.
"Put aside your weapons," Mithdar continued, thrusting his staff deep in the boggy ground; "for all here be on the same side!"
Slowly Thorn felt his body coming back to life. He blinked, looking down at Shard pulsing in his hand. In his mind the 'battle lust' still burned, yet Mithdar's words of power were beating back the flames.
The form that Timin and Zoean had first seen slowly approached the Companions. Tossing back the tattered hood, a collective gasp escaped the Companions, for all could plainly see that what now stood before them was a very old, female Kirkwean. Long, grey hair framed a well-worn face, yet the large eyes were both soft and wide with wonder, fixed on the pulsing black blade held by Thorn.
"You are Him!", the aged Kirkwean said, the awe in her voice plain for all to hear. "Your long travels have changed you greatly, but I see now that you truly are The Wanderer!"
The half-score or so of would-be attackers began to mutter among themselves, but the old Kirkwean, ignoring them, continued to slowly approach Thorn.
"You are Bramblethorn Higgs, kin to Granther Higgs."
"And if I am?", Thorn demanded.
A smile lit up the leathery, old face. "Then you'd be He whom all The Wold has been waiting." She lifted a wrinkled hand and gently placed it on Thorn's cheek. "The Great Smith Himself forged your destiny long ago, Thorn, to one day deliver the Woldfolk from the fiery furnace of the oppressor."
Thorn, still in a daze from the swift turning of events, gazed back at this strange old woman with the ancient yet young eyes.
"All I can say is that I am Bramblethorn Higgs and that I have come home. As for the rest, I'm no more sure of what to do now than I was when I left over a year ago!"
He sighed, suddenly very tired. Shard felt like an anvil in his hand. He staggered and would have fallen if not for Erin's hand on his shoulder.
"Also, I am very weary, and if I don't sit down, I fear I shall --- "
Thorn collapsed into Erin's arms, the black sword falling onto the muddy ground. Timin, running to his cousin's aid, bent to retrieve the blade.
"No, Timin!", Mithdar yelled. "Do not touch it! Only Thorn or an Erg-Leath may handle that accursed blade now!" Moving swiftly to where Erin stood holding Thorn's limp body, he pressed a hand to Thorn's pale cheek. "Over a year of bearing the Sword has tired him greatly."
"Will he be all right?", Timin asked.
The mage smiled. "He has just swooned, Timin. After a little rest he should be fine." Then, turning to the old woman, he bowed low.
"Ergrain, would you kindly retrieve Shard, for the Time of the Wanderer is near, and soon the lad shall have great need of it."
"'Ergrain'?", Timin repeated, looking at the raggedy old Kirkwean with new eyes. "You are Ergrain? The Erg-Leath that long ago trained the Lady Narya? I haven't seen you since I was a toddler! We all thought you were --- "
"Dead?" the old woman smiled, the action making here suddenly seem much younger. Her ancient, green eyes washed over the pudgy Kirkwean. "Time, Timin Goldenberry, slowly changes all. I left the Root years ago to come here and here I've stayed, patiently waiting for --- " Her bright smile suddenly vanished. "But perhaps we should speak no more about that till we're all safely indoors." She bent and retrieved Shard, holding it arms length as one would a poisonous viper.
Turning to Mithdar, she continued. "I will carry Shard, Mythdarian, but only till The Wander has recovered his strength; for I fear you are right, the time long foreseen is near at hand and this thing's capacity for evil has indeed grown considerably! Though, in the end, it is but a 'tool' and it is the mind behind it and not the tool itself that is trul
y evil! But come now, let us away, for my liss is not fare, and there you shall all find rest, for a night at least, from your long travels."
Silently the Companions followed Ergrain along a well hidden path. Erin carried Thorn's unconscious form, with Timin close at his side. The most of other Kirkwean had already faded back into the mist as though they had never been. Two however, asked if they could stay.
Unlike the others, who had been gathered from distant villages throughout The Wold, these two had lived in The Root itself, and knew well both Timin and Thorn. Doffer and Twigg were their names, and, once they heard of their old friend's return, they were loath to leave them.
"Timin-lad!", the small one called Twigg said. "We didn't recognize you, nor Thorn either! You've both changed since you left! All dressed up in chain and plate like that, why, Erg strike me!, we took you both for Slathers!"
Timin looked at the two ragged, mud-spattered Kirkwean. Twigg, the smaller one, looked thinner than ever, while Doffer, always taller and broader than most, had taken on a lean, hungry look as well.
"And I took the lot of you for swamp-wraiths, which is just what the pair of you look like! But oh, my dear friends, it's so good to see familiar faces!"
"Will Thorn be all right?", Doffer asked, his deep voice sharp with tension. "There's many of us been waiting on his return." A haunted look came into his large eyes. "Its all that's kept most of us going."
"Enough of that!", Twigg said sharply. "Thorn's come back like I said he would and The Lady Ergrain will have him up and about in no time. Meanwhile, lets all get out of this damp. The Lady's liss is just ahead, and I, for one, could use a warm fire and a mug of Woldwine!"
***
Chapter 47: 'AN AFFAIR OF HONOUR'
As Mithdar sloshed along beside Erin, his concerned glance was drawn to the Cloak Pin still fastened to Thorn's unconscious body. What he saw made his aged heart skip a beat.
"The Broach of the Nim-Loth glows red! Take care, friends, for servants of the Shadow are near!"
From above, the scream of the 'flyer' cut off the old mage's warning. As they looked up they saw a great leathery winged form swoop over the treetops, its large, jagged-toothed mouth agape, its scaly tail swishing to and fro. They saw too on its back a creature of another sort; all ashimmer it was, with eyes that burned red as bellows-blown coal. A Nar-Graith!
Even as they watched the rider tossed something like a pebble down at them. Immediately there followed a loud explosion and a blast of hungry fire. The heat from the fierce blaze scorched their exposed skin, while the orange flames danced wickedly over the marshy ground, seeking fuel to feed its fiery heart.
"Quickly!", Ergrain yelled above the roar of the flames. "My liss is just ahead! We must get the Swordbearer to safety!"
Erin, still carrying Thorn's limp body, plunged after the old Kirkwean, shouting as he went for Kel to use his bow. The rest followed, all save the Chin, Mithdar and the Lady Zoean. The mage stood between them as both Kel and Zoean readied their bows.
"It's gone!", the Nim-Lothian princess hissed, searching the darkening sky for a sign of the 'flyer' and its undead rider.
"Just banking, Lady," Kel said calmly. "It needs room to turn."
"Kel is right, Zoean," Mithdar added. "That was a Nar-Graith astride that beast. Sent here to destroy us. I fear it will not give up till it has done its master's bidding!"
"Look!," Zoean shouted, raising dead Flynnial's longbow. "The foul thing comes again!"
Both archers let fly just as the winged serpent sailed by above the treetops. Zoean's shaft struck the tail while Kel's thudded into the softer underbelly. The creature seemed not to even notice.
Yet another explosion followed, to the right and closer than the last. The combined heat and force of the blast made them shield their eyes.
"Your arrows will do little harm," Mithdar said; "For this task one must fight fire with fire!" He then stepped boldly out into the open, his gnarled staff raised and ready.
"No! You'll be killed!," Zoean cried, starting after the mage. Kel's strong hand held her back with a minimum of effort. His slanted eyes gazed forcefully into her green ones. "The Ri-Shawma knows what he is doing," he said calmly. "Besides, Lady, he but follows his fate, as do we all."
Zoean looked at the strange, bronze-skinned manling. Trying to fathom the cool depths of his dark eyes, she retorted: "An 'affair of honour' I suppose?"
Kel's left eyebrow raised. "Naturally."
The flyer's shrill cry came again. The twin fires from before still raged, the stagnant waters of the swamp doing little to dampen the flames. A black smoke swirled across the glade, while a stinging stench, like that of burning tar, filled their nostrils.
Then a third explosion rocked the Barrens.
"Mythdarian!", Zoean screamed. Both she and Kel stood spellbound as orange flames engulfed the mage. Through the shimmering wall of fire they saw Mithdar, still standing, suddenly thrust out his staff like an accusing finger. A white streak shot from its tip and struck the flyer in mid-air. Beast and burden were both hit by the searing light, the force from which literally 'punched' the flyer backwards. The Nar-Graith, its arms flailing wildly as it fought to regain its balance, let drop a small leather pouch. The tiny sack landed a bowshot away in the swamp, there to sink forever into the dark, murky waters.
"Bliss Necro!", Zoean gasped. "The ancient 'Star Magic'! " Her words, however, went unheeded, for Kel was no longer beside her. Bounding over the flame-blackened reeds, he moved to Mithdar's side.
Skatha too was on the move. His gleaming longsword drawn, he urged his winged steed down towards the two tiny figures now standing in the blasted glade. Having lost his pouch of 'Dragon's Tears', he resolved to end the matter with curved talon and sharpened blade.
The flames had vanished when Kel reached the mage, and though Mithdar's robes still smoldered, he seemed only slightly shaken. There was no time, however, for idle chatter, for the flyer was soon upon them.
Kel loosed an arrow just as Skatha raised his swordarm. The long shaft bit deep into the Nar-Graith's exposed armpit. The armour-piercing head split asunder the iron rings of Skatha's mail shirt and caused him to drop his sword. Screaming in pain, Lucfelian's lieutenant lashed out blindly with his hooked hand as the flyer swept by.
Mithdar, swerving to avoid the creature's snapping jaws, struck out at a raking talon with his knobby staff. Once again the legendary 'Bliss Necro' streaked forth. A crackling sound grated against the ear. Flesh and claw began to sizzle --- and the front left leg of the flyer dropped off.
The creature, screaming now in agony, swerved and fought to gain both its freedom and altitude; not, however, before Skatha's hook found its mark. Gouging a bloody path across Mithdar's cheek, the curved end sank deep into the mage's left shoulder, snagging like a fishhook under the muscle and thick bone. Mage and monster were locked in a grotesque dance of death while the stricken flyer beat its way aloft.
Kel, seeing Mithdar about to be dragged skyward, dropped his bow and charged. A gleaming a~sa in each hand, he leapt at the serpentine body as it flashed by. Hooking his right hand over the scaly tail, he drove his Chin blade in up to the hilt. The other half vel of iron followed suit, and so he gained a precarious two-handed purchase on the pain-racked monster. The wounded flyer, now bearing the weight of three 'riders', began to lose altitude.
Skatha could do little but hold on and curse, for his hook now held him prisoner to his dangling 'prey' as Mithdar's unmoving body hung like a sack of stones at the end of the Nar-Graith's iron arm. Kel too could do little but cling to the twin handles he had caused to 'sprout' from the creature's lashing tail.
Men and beast hovered in a grisly stalemate a swordslength above the ground.
Then, drawing on its other-worldly strength, the wild-eyed flyer screamed and slowly began to lift.
It was the sudden added weight of Zoean's body that tipped the scales!
Coming out of the shadows and smoke, she managed to grab hold of
Kel's dangling feet. The nearly spent flyer, now forced to carry four humans, was slowly pulled downwards.
As Mithdar's unconscious body touched the ground, Skatha wrenched free his gore-spattered hook and, reaching back, sank the curved pike blade into the flyer's rump. As this new spasm of pain reached the creature's tiny brain, it lashed its tail one last time. The sudden movement caused Zoean to lose her grip on Kel, who, seeing both Mithdar and the girl asprawl in the mud, yanked his blades clear and slid free.
The flyer, lighter now and spurred cruelly on by Skatha, beat its way over the trees and soon vanished.
Kel and Zoean made their way to the crumpled wizard.
"Sweet Quent!", Zoean exclaimed as the Chin gently turned the still form over. The left side of Mithdar's face was awash with blood, yet the worst was the ragged hole just above his heart.
Zoean turned aside and lost what little food she had eaten that day.
"He still lives," Kel said, his ear pressed to the mage's chest. "But only barely. Quickly, get Erin!"
Zoean fled into the darkening night.
***
Thorn coughed as the flask was lifted again to his lips.
"Enough!", he choked, managing to sit up. Confused, he looked about. He was in a low room of sorts, lit by several candles and a glowing central hearth. The walls seemed to be made of hard-packed earth, with here and there a gnarled tree root protruded. Indeed, the very roof itself seemed to be supported by a twisted network of roots.
Familiar, anxious faces were all around him.
"Take another sip, Thorn," Ergrain urged. "It will help you recover your wits --- and prepare you for what is to come."
Thorn swallowed another mouthful of the potent brew and then thrust the old Erg-Leath's hand away, his own going urgently to his side.
"Shard?! Where is it?! I must have it!"
"Calm yourself, lad. It is here, waiting for you."
Thorn's pale blue eyes narrowed. "Where? Give it to me!"